"This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark isLondon--eastern division. Within are the very words which wereupon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put thepapers on the sundial.'"
"What have you done?" asked Holmes.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, whitehands--"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poorrabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be inthe grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresightand no precautions can guard against."
"Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must act, man, or you arelost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time fordespair."
"I have seen the police."
"Ah!"
"But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced thatthe inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are allpractical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were reallyaccidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected withthe warnings."
Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "Incredibleimbecility!" he cried.
"They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain inthe house with me."
"Has he come with you to-night?"
"No. His orders were to stay in the house."
Again Holmes raved in the air.
"Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did younot come at once?"
"I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to MajorPrendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come toyou."
"It is really two days since you had the letter. We should haveacted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, thanthat which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail whichmight help us?"
"There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coatpocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tintedpaper, he laid it out upon the table. "I have some remembrance,"said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers Iobserved that the small, unburned margins which lay amid theashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheetupon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that itmay be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out fromamong the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyondthe mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I thinkmyself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing isundoubtedly my uncle's."
Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn froma book. It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were thefollowing enigmatical notices:
"4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.
"7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St. Augustine.
"9th. McCauley cleared.
"10th. John Swain cleared.
"12th. Visited Paramore. All well."
"Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning itto our visitor. "And now you must on no account lose anotherinstant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have toldme. You must get home instantly and act."
"What shall I do?"
"There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You mustput this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brassbox which you have described. You must also put in a note to saythat all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and thatthis is the only one which remains. You must assert that in suchwords as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, youmust at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Doyou understand?"
"Entirely."
"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. Ithink that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have ourweb to weave, while theirs is already woven. The firstconsideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatensyou. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish theguilty parties."
"I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on hisovercoat. "You have given me fresh life and hope. I shallcertainly do as you advise."